A Change in Heart
by Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant
Summary: What is it that compels us to read stories? Is it sensation? Is it a longing for something unusual? No—it is the transformation of a character, for good or evil. A bittersweet ending is more emotional than a merely bitter ending. But sorrow is but the path to peace. It is how we travel that path, that well-worn path, that gives us peace or eternal sorrow. (One-shot)


A/N: A loose adaption of _Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones. _Slightly AU. (Dialogue is a little different.)

This is my first attempt at writing in the First-Person mode. Your critiques and feedback are very much welcome (and make it more than "Gr8t chptz" or something similar to that; everyone, including those who're good, wants to improve). Furthermore, this is a one-shot, so there will be no "updates".

Enjoy.

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_In the Name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, I dedicate this work, _"A Change in Heart", _to His eternal glory. Amen._

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**_A Change in Heart_**

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**_Anakin's Dark Deeds—_John Williams—**Spotify, iTunes, YouTube

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**_The path of sorrow, and that path alone,  
Leads to the lands where sorrow is unknown_**

I walk in silence through the burning desert wastes of Tatooine; behind me is Cliegg's swoop-bike. It is safe—no creature or animal would be out tonight, I knew. To my left lay my target, the Tusken camp. I count about twenty-five variously shaped huts as I walk; fires lit the camp. The two moons, Ghomrassen and Guermessa, were bright tonight, one partially behind a rare cloud; the third, Chenini was barely visible. I note their presence briefly in the dark-blue sky then turn to look back at the village. My hood covers my face, hiding my features, but I can see them clearly, even from this distance in the night. The Force is my ally, and tonight it will not fail me. It never has.

I make my way quickly down from the cliff until I am level with the plain upon which the camp stands. Then I continue my march. Quietly. I want no one to hear me or see me; I am here for one person only. If she is still alive. I know Tuskens, and their ways. I silently send a plea upwards to the skies—then I return to my mission.

I reach one of the huts. From the faint sense of life within, I know it is her. _Snap-hiss. _The blade glows a bright blue in the darker colors of the night. No one hears the lightsaber, for its sounds are subtle. I angle it horizontally and begin to cut a hole through the skin walls of the hut. Moments later I deactivate my weapon—_visssh-p_—and climb through the make-shift entrance. The two guards outside the hut door, on the opposite side, do not know I am there.

Moonlight lances through the smoke hole of the hut, adding light where candles give only a little. By that light I can easily see her. Hanging from a frame, unconscious or dead. A low growl escapes me, and my eyes water, briefly clouding my vision. I go to her quickly—ripping off the bonds as fast as I can—and moments later, lower my mother to the ground carefully. I look into her tired face. It is bloody and beaten. A tear escapes my eye and lands on cheek with a feather's softness.

"An—Annie... is that you?"

My heart jumps inside for joy—my mother is alive... only barely. "Mom, it is I—Anakin" I say tenderly, holding her gently. "I am here, I'll get you out of here and back home, to safety." I get up and start to carry her out.

"Annie... Annie..." Her eyes slowly open—barely. They are bloodshot and... nearly empty. She lifts up a hand, and touches me. I kiss her hand. "My son," she says, softly, as if speaking is too much of an effort, "You look so handsome; so grown up. I am—am proud of... of you, Annie."

Her voice is fading—I must get her out of here and get medical attention. I gently cradle her in my arms, as I step through the hole and out on the desert, saying softly, "Just stay with me, mom... I'll get you out of here—you'll be fine. I promise y—"

"I... I missed you so—so much... Annie." she says, silencing me. Her voice is growing quieter; her eyes are fluttering. "Now I am complete."

"Please stay with me, please. I'll—I'll make you well again, please s—" I say, my voice trembling, but she interrupts me with another touch. Her eyes are sad. Behind me I hear the Tuskens' voices, rough and guttural.

"I... I love..." she gasps out.

"What," I bend my head closer to hers, hoping to hear anything. "What is it?" My voice is cracking. Please let it not be...

She falls silent... a single word leaves her, so faint I could barely hear it—"You..." Her head falls back, her eyes close... for the last time—her chest no longer moves with life. I come to a stop as she dies in my arms, her last spoken word being carried away by the wind. _"...You..."_

I sink to my knees, vainly holding back tears—they fall freely and without effort. I place my hand over her tortured face as I put her gently on the hard desert ground; my head is bowed. For long moments, I kneel there in silence. Memories of my life pass before me, all of whom with her in them. I hear her words, every last sigh, every last sob, every last laugh... everything passes by. My mind replays over what had happened again... and again... and again...

I open my eyes—I see my hand covering her—and I pull back. My mother lies there, finally free of life and pain—but I feel a great loss. As if my heart is being torn in two, or has been. My blood freezes inside—my breath catches in my throat—and my bones shudder. Suddenly, a fire kindles in my wounded heart, melting the veins of ice. I hear a pounding in my ears, a fierce roaring as like the waterfalls of Naboo. A great dragon comes to life inside me—I can feel it even as I watch the tired, worn-out features of Shmi Skywalker slowly change. Now she looks as if she is merely sleeping—if it were not for the blood on her face, the cuts which cover her cheeks, and the torn hands I vainly clutch at.

I turn my head back toward the camp. My eyes water fiercely, obscuring my vision—the huts fade in and out of focus—I shake my head. Droplets of water fly. I stand, and turn back to the Tusken camp.

_Snap-hiss._

Those misbegotten dogs will know whom they have transgressed, whose mother they have killed in their bloody coming-of-age rites. My tears are cleared away now—my eyes burn with a fire unquenchable. My face, once lined with fear and pity for the dying, is hardened. My heart, once full of the melting ice of sorrow, is transformed into both a rock and a flame incarnate. _They will pay with their lives..._

The blue-colored blade of my lightsaber, constructed on Ilum, burns before me. I had used it to kill the slaver Krayn, the Avoni raiders, and many others. All of those who I had killed I killed defending the weak, the helpless, and the outnumbered. I have disobeyed orders to help those in need many times—this lightsaber has drunk of the blood of many, all in defense. Now it will kill again. This time, I had not been able to save the one person worth more to me than the entire Jedi Order or even my own master. This time, once more, I will use it without mercy. _This weapon is your life, _I hear my master's voice again. Little did he know that this weapon, this lightsaber, is more than my weapon. It is my tool. I deactivate it, and stow it away by my side, ready to use it.

I stalk towards the hut in which I carried my mother out of, silently as a vengeful ghost—or an angel of death. My steps are swift and precise; and dead as the night. My Temple masters and Master Kenobi have trained me well. I place my hand on the torn skin-wall and—_Virrraph!—_I tear it off with fury, then discard the portion. Twice more I rip away at the hut's exterior, using the Force to both augment and silence my movements. Moments later, with pieces of skin littering the ground I step through the widened hole.

I look around the hut. There are many things in here I can destroy, to send them through the hut door and out into the camp—but that would defeat my purpose. My lightsaber is what I shall use. Together with the Force. The hide-door flaps open as a breath of wind presses against it—the it moves inward.

A Tusken female steps in, carrying a small bowl of soup together with a spoon. No doubt to feed the prisoner. Her faceplate is looking down so she does not see me at first. My face turns into a scowl.

_Snap-hiss!_

She looks up—I can see the ultramarine shaft of light reflected in the faceplate—and begins to back up quickly, in fear. The bowl drops to the ground, the soup spilling everywhere. She holds out a hand. I swiftly move forward—_slash!—_and she falls, a great streak of red and orange going up her chest. I step over her body. I swing my lightsaber rapidly—the skin-flap and parts of the wall fall to the ground, the wood-and-bone frame cut away.

I force my way through the door and swiftly behead the two guards.

_Thunk. Thunk. _One of the heads is severed from the neck—the other sliced in half.

I hear a gasp. I look up. I see a little figure standing there, a stick by its feet. My face, hooded as it is, is quite visible. The face of death. The figure screams shrilly. I let the scream continue—the little thing shouts in the Tusken's foul language—then I move again. The Tusken falls to the ground, quite dead, with one slash of my weapon.

Others come, some holding gaderffii-staves, a few cycler-rifles. Those with the guns fire at me—_Bam, Bam, Bam—_while those wielding gaderffii-staves rush at me. I close my eyes and tap into the Force, going deep into it like I never have before. I draw upon the deepest reservoir of power I can find. The energy-covered slugs thud into an invisible shield as I call upon the ubiquitous energy field which is my ally and friend—then I release it.

The Tusken animals all fly back, blown away by the concentrated power of the push. A great wind springs up. The huts' skin-walls begin to flap as the breeze thunders into them. Several Tuskens charge at me, swinging their weapons and howling their battle-cries. They never reach me. With a mighty pull, I force the nearest hut out of its place and throw it into the animals. They are flattened by it.

Several fire, kneeing at a distance from me. The sparks of light flash and the cracks of the slugs sound, but quickly are snuffed out by the mighty wind. I lift up a dozen of the kneeing Tuskens with a single gesture—they wriggle and twist in the air—and slam them together. They fall. I lift some up in the air again. Some I crush into meat and bone, blood flying everywhere. Others I throw far away. A very few disappear without a cry. The rest I destroy with my blade, sending it to fly among them as they hover, decapitating or bisecting their foul bodies.

I open my mouth in a scream, a deep, primal howl of rage and agony, and lift my face up to the heavens as I wreak havoc and destruction upon the entire tribe. I am surrounded by a swirling maelstrom of huts, bone, wood, metal, and bodies. _This is power! _I manipulate everything I see with my mind, using it to _destroy_ them all!

Suddenly pain explodes across my senses. I sink down. A gaderffii-stave had slammed into my back. I am wearing nothing but cloth. No armor. The pain hurts terribly, but my fury is stronger. The Tusken—somehow he had managed to survive the storm—pulls back for the killing blow. Suddenly he drops his weapon and clutches at his throat. I slowly stand, blood pouring down my back, staining my torn robes with a dark crimson, holding him with a telekinetic grip. I smile grimly. My hand closes.

_Crack!—Thunk! _

He falls to the ground, his neck broken.

_Bam! Bam! Bam! _

More shots come my way. More had survived than I had thought. There were plenty of lifeless forms lying about on the ground, but still they come. Several run towards me with their staves and ceremonial swords. I laugh in their faces as they charge—then lightning comes out of both hands and shoots at them.

Several crumple to the ground, screaming terminally, helplessly as the lightning cascades over and through them, jumping from being to being. Some explode into flame. I lift more into the air and fry them with my hatred, screaming myself in rage.

I bring my hands together, dropping those in the air, and concentrate the energy into a single, small sphere—then I release it into a great explosion, one that vaporizes everything around me into mere atoms...

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It is day.

The first of the two suns, Tatoo I, rises in the east of the desert. The shadows it casts are few—the moisture-vaporators, the farmer's hut, the power generator—but already I can sense something is very wrong. When Owen turned suddenly and ran outside, I knew Anakin had returned home. I drop my things and run after him, Beru quite close on his heels. Behind me I hear Cliegg's hoverchair humming along, also attracted by the noise. I go outside. Owen and Beru stand silently, shading their eyes against the harsh glare of Tatoo I's burning rays. I go to them and also cover my forehead with a hand, shutting out the sun. For long moments we see nothing—we hear it instead.

Soon a little black dot appears on in the distance, then it grows larger. At last we see Anakin. Something is tied to the speeder. My heart sinks. _Holy Shiraya, _I pray to the moon goddess of Naboo, _please let it not be what I think it is... _Behind me I hear Threepio's voice, "Mi'lady, mi'lady, is that Master Skywalker? Why does he look so grim?" Trust Threepio to know what Anakin looks like—his "eyes" are better than mine, even better than Owen's. Cliegg Lars' hoverchair hums to a halt beside me, though I do not see him. _  
_

"Anakin, what—is—is that... her?" Owen says in amazement as the young Jedi dismounts from the swoop-bike. I can see he is holding a black bundle in his arms. His clothing is torn and bloodstained, I noted. He does not look at me but instead brushes past Owen and goes to the hut.

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"I could have saved her—I could have—could have—" Anakin breaks off in mid-sentence, throwing the tool he holds away. It clatters somewhere. "Why did she have to die?" He sits down and holds his head in his arms. "...Why?..." he asks again.

"Sometimes," I begin, setting down the tray I had prepared with Beru, "there are things no one can fix. You're not all-powerful, Annie." Instantly I know I have said the wrong thing. He stands up in agitation and strides away from the bench, snatching a desert-pear from the tray without an acknowledgment of my presence.

When he speaks, I knew I had struck something sensitive, something he had been agonizing since returning. "I should be!" he says angrily, "Someday I will be... I will be the most powerful Jedi ever!" He whirls and holds out his fist to me. "I promise you," he says passionately, "I will even learn to stop people from dying."

"Anakin..." I say helplessly. I take a seat on the bench he vacated, unable to think of anything more to say.

"...Of course..." he muses, somewhat morbidly, "It is impossible. I couldn't bring back my mother from the dead." He turns and walks swiftly to the other end of the shop. "No one can. Even if it were possible, there is nothing here for them." By them, I know, he means those who're dead. "Nothing."

"Annie..." I begin, standing and going to him. "I had said the wrong thing. No one _is _all-powerful. If they were nothing like this would ever happen."

"A fever-dream," he retorts, "only Jedi mystics and who-knows-out-there only believe in such things. Not I," he turns around to face me, "I cannot, ever, think like that."

I step back in shock. "Where is the boy I once knew?" I ask softly. I did not expect things to change so rapidly, so quickly!

"He died when his mother was taken from him—by those animals," he says, still not quite under control of his emotions. I notice he clenches his fist as he says this. "Yes, those desert foxes," he continues, "those desert-jackals—_they murdered her!" _he suddenly shouts. "I killed them all—every single creature of that tribe! They deserved it all!"

My eyes widen in shock. "Bu—bu—this isn't the Jedi way!" I protest, "What would Master Kenobi sa—?"

"_Damn the man," _he rages, _"if only he hadn't held me back my mother would still be alive! He is jealous of my power—and so he holds me back!"_

"Ana—Annie," I say forcefully, gripping his shoulders firmly with my hands, "this is not you. The man I knew would never behave like thi—in the name of all that is sane, _stop fighting me!" _I end up screaming; he fought off my restraining hands.

"The man you knew is dead," he says passionately, pointing a finger at me, "he died that night along with Shmi Skywalker. He died when those monsters took the only person he had ever loved in his life—I am right to be angry," he finishes, "at them, at the Jedi, at my Master—at you!" With that he whirls and stalks out of the room.

I slowly sit down, trembling. Annie is no longer who I knew him to be. I can see now. It is in his eyes—something in them has died, something that reminded me of the little boy that caught my attention all of those years ago. The young man I once knew, the one so full of life and zest—even reveled in the life of a Jedi padawan and later Knight—was now dead. _Holy Shiraya, what have I done? _I bite my fingernails in frustration. I know I have done something wrong—something that caused him to reject me so... so... so strongly. I had only tried to help, yet... he has rejected me...

The moments tick by. The twin suns of Tatooine move across the sky. Still I sit, pondering all of my thoughts, both past and present, running over my relationship with Anakin, trying to learn what is it that I might have done to cause him to speak so strongly, and forcefully. _To be angry is to be human, _I say to a mental Anakin. To which he retorts, "_To control your anger is to be a Jedi." _His actions, however, adamantly deny his words.

_I shouldn't have said that, _I say to myself, _he is a man of two worlds, of both the Jedi and humanity. It must be agony to him that he couldn't protect those in danger, when the Jedi are supposed to shield the weak... right? _Or was it another thing entirely, of which I am unaware of? He had said harsh words against the Jedi and his own Master—no, more than "master", his own brother in the flesh. Is it because he feels restricted by them that he cannot do what is right?

I hear something, something imperceptible. I crane my neck, trying to locate the source. Then I find it immediately.

It was the sound of sobbing. From the courtyard.

I stand and leave the room. I enter the courtyard—there, I see him. He is sitting by the central moisture-vaporator, holding his head in his arms; his body is shaking. I can hear his sobs clearly.

He does not notice me until I sit beside him, and place my arm over him. "Annie..." I say soothingly, "what is the matter?" I knew it was pointless to ask, but somehow it seemed to right thing to do.

He looks up at me. His blue eyes are full of tears—genuine tears. "I—I killed them all," he begins, haltingly, "not only the men, but... but the women, and children." He buries his head again. "My God, my God, what have I done?" he cries out. I hold him close, softly kissing his head, as he cries hard into my shoulder. I have never seen a grown man cry before. It not pleasant at all. "I am _not_ a Jedi Knight," he chokes out, "I am supposed to defend the weak, not destroy them! What have I done to deserve this?"

I thought of all the things I could say to him, but ultimately, I let them pass away into oblivion. _"The best healing for the soul is simply to listen," _my mother always used to tell me. So I followed her advice, and let him cry his heart out. I feel wetness. I touch my cheek—the wetness is a tear; I am crying, too.

It is a long time before Beru or Owen calls us for the burial. That was tactful on their part.

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We stand before the graves, all of uneven sizes. The twin suns are high in the sky—the third, seldom seen moon, is also visible. Beru and Owen have said their part over the grave. Cliegg Lars has said his piece. I have said mine. Now it remains to Anakin. He steps up to the grave of his mother. I watch him warily. Would he break down? What will happen?

Nothing of the like happens. He simply kneels down before the grave, says a few quiet words—a moment between him and the dead—then stands. He turns back. His features are still sad, but also there is a strange resolve. I notice he fingers his lightsaber. I look at him with some caution. He merely walks to us, and then past, going for the hut.

We all turn and follow him—Threepio last, shutting off the recording. Annie had insisted Threepio to record it despite all protestations to the contrary, mine included. I catch the driod's "eye". Threepio only looks at me and then says something nonchalantly, something innocent, as only a droid can do. Whatever he says goes past me. I break eye-contact and follow the rest.

I have witnessed something today, something I thought I never would have seen in my entire life. Today I saw the change of a man.

Whether it will be for better or worse is left to time.

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A/N: I wrote this during a period of rejection and hopelessness, so I know in part what Anakin Skywalker must have felt in the movie. I have changed the dialogue as needed. Your critiques and thoughts are most highly valued.


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